


A Carven Skull

by MyrddinDerwydd



Series: 30 Days of Dragon Age [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dalish, Death, Falon'din - Freeform, Fire, Gen, Vallaslin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 03:57:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14741574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyrddinDerwydd/pseuds/MyrddinDerwydd
Summary: An eerie night by the fire in the Exalted Plains leads to a little bit of magic.Writing Masterpost, organized by main character.





	A Carven Skull

The snouffler must have been twice his size when it was alive, but all that remained was its heavy, tuskless skull. They were camped on the edge of the war zone in the Exalted Plains, nearer the river than to the burning channels of the Orlesian ramparts. What had set the Inquisitor and others on edge had felt like home to him, Dorian mused. Necromantic tendrils of magic threaded through every dead body, decrepit flesh and shattered bones scattered around them in the aftermath. 

Ellie - Inquisitor Elisara Lavellan - had lead them away from all of that, though he personally found it simpler to deal with bodies he could light on fire with a twist of his wrist, rather than the bodies of local fishermen and their children. The fresh, bloody carcass of another smaller snouffler had been sliced into manageable bits and was roasting over the fire, as Ellie cooked twice as much food as they needed, when possible, carrying the rest to whatever refugees, elves, or soldiers were nearest. 

He had grown rather fond of their mischievous, stubborn Inquisitor, but at the moment he had no idea what she was doing.

“You know I can’t do much with just a skull, Ellie.” Dorian teased, settling himself gingerly on a stone near where she had dragged the torso-sized skull into camp. She had a charcoaled stick from the fire, and was roughly sketching branches up onto the heavy brow of the skull, rising from a ring on its snout. 

“Haven’t you had enough walking skeletons for one day, Dorian?” She retorted dryly, continuing to mark down the skull’s long bony face. 

“Never!” His lips twisted into a sardonic grin. “I typically have a reason for turning them into pretty little camp decorations, however.” 

The firelight darkened the furrows on Ellie’s brow into fierce trenches, and she finished curling lines around the tusk sockets and nasal cavity. 

“This whole place is pretty, I suppose,” he mused when she failed to answer. “In a ‘this archway could collapse on me at any moment’ sort of way. Back before the elves were given this land, I understand it was mostly forest. You can hardly tell.”

“There is too much death here, and no one to guide them onward,” she finally answered firmly, sitting back to scrutinize the skull. Dorian knew her well though, and heard a touch of unease in her voice. 

“Are those vallaslin markings like your own?” He leaned over her shoulder to get a better view in the firelight. “I’m not sure making a Dalish snouffler will help.” 

She didn’t laugh, but her lips turned up in a half-smile. “For once you remembered something properly about my people, Dorian.” Rising on her knees and tucking under her bare toes, Ellie added another arch of branches high on the top of the skull. “These are the markings of Falon’Din, who guides the dead into the great Beyond.”

Seeker Pentaghast snorted her disbelief from across the fire. “I still do not understand how the Dalish would rather have a dozen gods instead of simply following Andraste’s guidance to the Maker.” 

Ellie tossed him a sideways glance and rolled her eyes, tossing the stick blindly over her shoulder into the fire, which flared and sent sparks high into the night. 

He winked back at her conspiratorially, having been in the middle of this particular argument at least three times before. Though certainly considering himself Andrastian, he understood well the complicated nature of dealing with faith. Oddly, he generally found himself landing on Ellie’s side in this discussion, and rubbed his hands together thoughtfully as he considered the filigreed pattern of Falon’Din dancing across the skull. 

“Care for a touch of the dramatic from your personal necromancer?” 

The firelight turned Ellie’s emerald vallaslin a garish, dissonant orange as she turned toward him, scooting away from the skull. She hesitated a second before nodding sharply, likely hoping he wouldn’t send it dancing around the camp. 

Dorian crouched beside the skull, firelight flaring over the silver on his boots. Amethyst sparks rippled across his fingers as he spread them wide, hands covering barely half of the design. His thumbs met over the central ring, which flared into blazing fire as he focused his power. This was pure magic. It wasn’t even really a proper spell, just him, the Fade, and the fire. The thought sent a thrill of pride down his spine, even as the burning sulphurous smell of the bone hit his senses. 

He and Ellie ignored the Seeker and Varric’s protests as he swept the fire slowly outward, searing Falon’Din’s symbol through the skull. Ash rose into the night and dropped through the carven lines. The core of the flames flashed white as his outstretched fingers reached the edges, and the two of them watched their handiwork seared into permanence. With a sweep of one hand, the flames flickered into the void, and a brief icy wind swept the acrid smell away from the camp. 

The bone cooled, ash crumbling, death charred into a carven skull to guide them through the darkening night.


End file.
